You Don't Go Up There to Fish
by sparklecringe
Summary: “Are you trying to tell me,” he began slowly, “That this, ah, marriage... *didn’t* stem from a fit of drunken madness?" Toki/Skwisgaar, gay marriage, unrepentant mush.


It was the usual, as far as dinnertimes at Mordhaus went. Charles, as always, was struggling with no small amount of desperation to maintain (introduce, really) some _professionalism_, for god's sake, and make his voice heard over the lively conversation.

The fact that the bulk of it consisted of Nathan and Murderface arguing over whether or not it was gay to like teacake, with Pickles, head in arms and the sickbucket at his feet, shooting clipped expletives at them every now and again, was neither here nor there.

At least Skwisgaar and Toki were quiet. Probably yet another catastrophic fight, Ofdensen thought with a heavy, laboured, inward sigh.

Sometimes Charles thought it would be nice for them to put their egos aside for just five minutes. He'd settle for three, of course, because Charles Foster Ofdensen knew how to seal a deal, damn it.

He made a mental note to try that approach later. "Boys-"

"... And there is no way cinnamon is _not_ gay, dude-" Nathan was in the middle of saying.

"Bull_schit_!" was Murderface's sorely offended retort.

An ominous, metallic clang. Charles was quick to react.

"Pickles, please try not to throw the sickbucket across the room. You know it makes the cleaners antsy." Patience, Charles. Play the game.

"Fuck you, dude," Pickles moaned, but he complied, and Charles breathed again.

What happened next happened very quickly, so much so that Charles had to think it through a few times before he fully comprehended it: Toki finally spoke up, which was immediately followed by Skwisgaar giving him an almighty thump to the shoulder. What came next was an upset yell from Toki, and Pickles raising his head, looking very pale. Next, Murderface and Nathan finally shut up, as Skwisgaar turned his back on Toki with purpose. After that, Charles shut his jaw.

The silence was so heavy and overwhelming that you could hear bloodrop, well, drop.

"You did _what_, exactly?" Charles asked at last, his voice trembling a little, because, even after all the acts of sheer dumbfuckery he'd witnessed from the boys, this-

Well, it ranked somewhere in the middle.

That didn't make it any less surprising. Most people could only hope to reach such profound levels of stupidity.

"Gots married!" Toki bleated cheerfully, seizing Skwisgaar's arm and hugging it, an expression of pure delight crossing his face. Skwisgaar gave a deep groan, covering his eyes with his free hand, and it crossed Charles' mind that he could relate. Far, far too well.

"To Skwisgaar."

"Ja, to Skwisgaar."

"I'll _kills _you, Toki," hissed Skwisgaar.

More silence. Charles' ears were starting to burn.

"Dude, what the _fuck_?" said Pickles, looking rather stunned, "You said you wanted to go to Cali for the _beaches! _Not, I dunno, have _sex_ on them!_"_

"Now, schee, Nathan," said Murderface, rather sagely, "_That'sch _gay."

Nathan seemed rather lost for words.

Another brief silence. Pickles punctuated it with a particularly heavy round of projectile vomit.

"Stops _looks _at me!" Skwisgaar groaned, making sure his face was still shielded.

Charles envied him, a little. If he ever hid himself away, the Dethklok empire would collapse in a matter of seconds.

And, suddenly, the switch flipped, and Charles Foster Ofdensen became professional again.

"Well, I'll get started on securing the divorce papers," he said, brisk and efficient and in his element, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, ignoring the expression of genuine, absolute horror that crossed Toki's face, "If we act quickly, no one will have to know that this oversight ever occ- something the matter, Skwisgaar?"

Because Skwisgaar had raised his head, and was looking very, very hesitant, and very, very, uncomfortable.

"Dat... ah, won'ts be necessary." Toki looked as if he was about to faint from sheer joy, and tightened his grip around Skwisgaar's arm. Skwisgaar shifted in his seat, raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if praying.

"What do you mean, won't be necessary?" And he was honestly confused, for a moment.

"Whats the fuck do you _thinks_ I means?" Testy. Annoyed.

Nervous?

And then it dawned on Charles. Clarity.

It was similar to what he envisioned finding out your mother was a transvestite would be like- that sharp, horrible feeling of having to re-evaluate your own place in the world.

"Are you trying to tell me," he began slowly, "That this, ah, marriage... _didn't _stem from a fit of drunken madness? Is that what you're both trying to tell me?"

More silence. Toki grinned. Skwisgaar kept his eyes trained on the table.

Charles got the idea.

"Well, then," he said, "I... congratulations." He really didn't know what else to say. He meant it, though.

On some level, anyway.

Toki beamed. If he smiled any harder, his cheeks would split open from sheer joy. Charles really didn't have any difficulty envisioning it, and to be frank, it concerned him a little. Skwisgaar's expression was a little less sour, Charles thought – at any rate, he wasn't facing entirely away from Toki now.

"Dude," Pickles interjected, accompanied another cheerful bout of vomiting.

"Uh," Nathan said, very obviously unsure of what to do, "So do we, uh, clap, or something?"

"No, you _idiot, _you're schupposched throw _rische _on them!" Murderface shouted, as if this were the most ridiculous idea that had ever been uttered in all of Mordhaus (It wasn't. Not by a long shot).

Charles only just suppressed the urge to beat his head repeatedly into the table as Nathan and Murderface began arguing about traditional wedding customs, and whether they were gay or not. Pickles returned to his post of drunken agony, and Skwisgaar and Toki-

Well, he supposed, in light of the circumstances, he'd let this one go, obeying the laws of discretion and turning his head away as Toki planted a kiss on Skwisgaar's cheek.

He heard the blonde sigh: "I means it, Toki. I'll kills you."

"Yeah, okays, whatever."

It occurred to Charles that this was probably as close to sensible as any of them would ever get. He didn't know whether to be amused or horrified by this revelation.

In the end, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and waited.

He was a professional, after all.


End file.
